


Letters and Ink

by DeCarabas



Series: Fugitives Together [11]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Blue Hawke, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 13:51:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6987616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeCarabas/pseuds/DeCarabas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A break at the clinic spent working on the manifesto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters and Ink

“I thought Varric found someone to print those for you,” Hawke says, leaning over Anders’ work and blocking his light.

Old drafts of the manifesto are strewn across the makeshift desk in the back room of the clinic, those Anders managed to find that hadn’t been used as kindling; and he’s about a third of the way through a neat stack of fresh paper. A cut of the proceeds from the last job he’d helped Hawke with joins the clutter on the desk, and Anders nods an acknowledgment, doesn’t look up from the page he’s copying.

“He did. There was a raid.” And even though it was technically the guards doing the raiding, not the templars, it’s easy to guess who ordered it. “So it’s back to doing it by hand.”

“That place down by the foundry? Thom Beshcal’s? I heard about that. He’s usually good about paying his bribes.” Hawke picks up one of the finished copies. “Shouldn’t take him too long to get back in business. Want me to talk to Aveline, see if she can speed things up? …There’s two ‘m’s in ‘commander,’ by the way.”

Anders curses internally, debates if there’s room enough to go back and scribble the second one in where it belongs. Probably not. It’s fine, he decides. No one will care about one missing letter. “Don’t bother. I shouldn’t have used a printer in the first place.” He can’t justify putting other people at risk if he doesn’t have to.

“What? It’s not your fault. Thom knows his business; this sort of thing comes with the territory.”

Technically true, and he can’t even be certain it was the manifesto that caused the raid; it wasn’t the only thing confiscated. There was a reason Varric had pointed him to Beshcal specifically. But that _shouldn’t_ come with the territory; it shouldn’t be taken for granted that bribes and the occasional raid are simply part of doing business when that business isn’t completely Chantry-approved.

“And there’s supposed to be an ‘a’ in templar—are you doing this on purpose?”

“Did you just come down here to make fun of my spelling?”

“Apparently.” Hawke pulls a second stool up to the desk, sits down across the corner from Anders. “You’re ruining my image of Circle mages here. What happened to all your fancy training?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Anders says with a quick smile. “Now you know the real reason I went into healing. All the important exams were practical ones.”

“Mm. Move over.” Hawke nudges Anders’ elbow where it’s resting on the desk until he shifts, makes room, and Hawke reaches across him for a blank page of paper.

Hawke’s broad handwriting sprawls across the paper as he copies Anders’ words, _the oppression of mages stems from the fears of men,_ and _knight-commander_ with two ‘m’s, and Anders watches, bemused.

“You don’t need to do that. I’m the one who’s too stubborn to use a printer.”

“Goes faster with two,” Hawke says. “And I’m hoping one of these days when your assistant tells me you’re taking a break, I’m going to come back here and catch you actually taking a break. You know. Resting. I’d like to see what that looks like.”

Anders grins, shakes his head and turns back to the paper in front of him. “This _is_ resting,” he protests. It is as far as the clinic is concerned, anyway. Mindlessly copying one page to another doesn’t take any mana. All rested up from his afternoon patient load and ready for whatever the night will bring.

And it’s all very familiar, crowded together like this over a pile of notes and the smell of ink. Makes the side of him that’s just Anders remember libraries and quiet corners and better ways to pass the time while he’s resting and recharging, which would be a bad idea for all kinds of reasons, but it’s a nice feeling all the same.

“Thank you,” he says. “I appreciate the help.”

Hawke nudges him, shoulder to shoulder. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself all the time.”

As if it’s as simple as that.

The desk’s not really large enough for two people, and their legs jostle comfortably together, incidental.  And for a little while there’s just the sound of words scratching across the paper and the hum of voices in the front room of the clinic, and the sight of Hawke across from him, his head lowered over the manifesto every time Anders looks up.


End file.
